


Gold and Clay

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: All the X-Men are Poly, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Especially Hank, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Polyamory, So many blowjobs, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Hank is beginning to suspect that Scott may have an uncanny knack for knowing when his teammates are trying to get their rocks off. Maybe it’s a like a secondary mutation: an inhuman ability to cockblock others.





	Gold and Clay

**Author's Note:**

> i am just... such a sucker for all the x-men being poly in some way or another (i have a whole tree in my head of who hooks up with who, who's more platonic, who's more romantic, where it's only sex and nothing else, etc) so ofc i had to indulge it a bit. the main ship in the fic is hank/scott, but hank/raven, hank/charles, and hank/peter in particular feature prominently. 
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing! 
> 
> go forth, enjoy the smut.

Hank growls faintly and clutches one hand tighter around Raven’s hip. She hums in response and presses her body closer. Hank knots his other hand in her hair and tugs lightly, gets teeth in his bottom lip as retaliation. It’s a give and take between them, as always, and Hank’s blood is burning. The adrenaline from a successful mission spurs them on, just as it had all the way from the jet up to Hank’s room.

“You’re thinking too much,” Raven hisses into the kiss.

Hank makes an apologetic sound and lets his fingers untangle from her hair. He wraps both hands around her hips and hauls her in the air. Seamlessly, Raven’s legs wrap around his waist and her arms curl around his shoulders.

“Better,” she says with a small grin.

Hank affectionately rolls his eyes. He walks over to the bed without a single stumble, despite the lust threatening to overwhelm him. Raven peppers kisses over his cheeks, his mouth, across his jaw and down his neck. It’s all thoroughly distracting, so much so that it isn’t until Hank is laying Raven onto his bed that he realizes his bedroom door is open.

Hank pauses in drawing Raven’s top off and stares. “Scott?”

Raven stiffens under him for a moment. She opens her eyes and glares at the door. “Scott,” she repeats, tone far sharper than Hank’s.

The blush on Scott’s cheeks is vibrant even with the visor in the way. “My bad.”

Raven huffs, and Hank smothers a snort against her taut stomach. “Maybe give us a minute?”

Scott, blush worsening, nods rapidly. “Yeah, I’ll just be—outside. Downstairs. Outside downstairs. Okay.”

The door snaps shut behind him. Once his footsteps have faded, Hank dissolves into laughter and Raven is quick to follow.

“God,” she groans. “That’s a mood killer.”

Hank sits back on his haunches and Raven sits up. “I’ll lock the door next time.”

Raven’s eyes glint. “You better.”

 

 

The thing is… it keeps happening.

And okay, sure, maybe that’s a little bit of Hank’s fault. None of them are very subtle, and when you’ve gone through what they’ve gone through, a certain level of propriety flies out the window. He and Raven are probably the worst about it, but he and Charles have their moments. A few stolen seconds with Peter stand out, too, quick but not dissatisfying.

The problem isn’t the encounters themselves. The problem is Scott keeps walking in on them.

Charles’ legs bracketed by Hank’s on the couch in the study as their mouths move hungrily together. Raven spread across a table in the lab and Hank’s head buried between her legs. Peter pinned to the wall by Hank’s strength and unable to flee even if he wanted to, both their bodies vibrating with excitement.

Every single time, Scott walks in on them. Sometimes after they’ve come, other times before. It’s always frustrating, regardless, but Hank—nor any of the other X-Men—doesn’t have the heart to snap at him more than a quick, _“Scott!”_

Despite the numerous if brief scolding’s, Scott never seems to learn. Hank is beginning to suspect that Scott may have an uncanny knack for knowing when his teammates are trying to get their rocks off. Maybe it’s a like a secondary mutation: an inhuman ability to cockblock others.

 

 

“It only happens with you,” Raven says with a sigh, her chest still heaving with the effort to catch her breath. She’s blonde-haired and peach-skinned tonight, and her whole body tells the tale of their escapade. Her hair is a knotted mess and her skin is blushing bright.

“What?” Hank asks. He’s still foggy from orgasm, his brain isn’t functioning fully quite yet.

Raven rolls onto her side. “He only busts in when _you’re_ involved.”

Hank slowly registers what she says. “What?” He asks again. “You’re joking.”

“No,” Raven says with a smirk. “Peter and I were in the study the other day, not a peep. I know Charles and Erik went at it a few nights ago, too.”

“Erik probably terrifies him, to be fair.”

Raven shrugs. “He’s intimidated by me,” she points out, “doesn’t stop him from barging in as long as _you’re_ the one I’m fucking.”

Hank chews his bottom lip. “Really?”

“Really.” Raven smirks again and reaches out to cup Hank’s face. She touches him gently, sweetly, then gently smacks his cheek. “You should fuck him.”

Hank startles so bad he nearly topples off the edge of his bed. “ _What_?”

“He clearly wants you to.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We do, though.”

Hank shakes his head. “Him bursting in is probably just a coincidence.” He’s told Raven his theory about it being a secondary mutation. She’d laughed him out of her bed, but drew him back in with softer giggles, at the time.

“It’s not.” Raven sing-songs the words, but there’s an undercurrent of defeat in her tone. “If it keeps happening, I’m not going to sleep with you anymore.”

Hank can’t help it: he pouts.

“I’m serious,” Raven says around a toothy grin.

“Fine,” Hank sighs. “That’s fair, I guess. Even though it’s definitely an accident.”

Raven rolls her eyes.

 

 

It isn’t as though Hank is testing a hypothesis or anything like that. But he _is_ a scientist, and it’s only natural to want to get to the bottom of things.

So if he starts shacking up with his friends and peers a little more often, it’s really not for the purpose of proving anything, least of all proving that Scott is walking in on him intentionally. He’s just got a healthy libido, as do his teammates, and it’s all in good fun. He’s really not doing it as some sort of science experiment.

Okay, not _only_.

 

 

“Oh— _oh_.” Charles’ hands grip Hank’s hair and tug. “Hank, good lord, _oh_.”

Hank smirks against Charles’ neck and bites down again. He seals his teeth right over Charles’ pulse point and sucks, hard. It leaves a bright red mark behind, and Hank skirts his teeth over the abused skin one last time.

Charles’ wanton and breathy noises continue—Hank often wonders if the professor is always this loud, if he realizes that his wails reverberate off the walls—right up until they stop abruptly.

Hank pulls back from teething at Charles’ neck, takes a moment to admire the mess of marks, before he realizes Charles is staring agape behind him. Hank turns and swears quietly under his breath when he realizes the study door is open. He didn’t lock it, though, only half-intentionally.

Scott stands in the doorway, like he always does. His mouth is open in surprise and he’s breathing heavily.

“Did you need something, Mr. Summers?” Charles asks in a strained voice. “We’re a bit, ah, preoccupied.”

Scott startles as if brought out of a trance. “No, sorry. Wrong door.” And with that, he’s off.

Charles is scowling when Hank looks back. “What?” Hank asks.

“You really ought to do something about that,” Charles says while pushing gently at Hank’s chest. “It really is the worst sort of libido-killer.”

Hank slides from Charles lap to stand. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Charles pins him with a very distinct look, before a smattering of ethereal and faded images—suggestions, Hank realizes—cross through Hank’s thoughts. Hank sighs.

“Alright. Fine.”

 

 

The next time it happens, Hank maybe takes it a little too far.

He’s pressed against the fridge, metal cool against his back even through his shirt, and Peter is on his knees in front of Hank. Silvery-blue hair is threaded between Hank’s fingers, and Peter sucks him off quick but torturously teasing at the same time. Hank groans and lets his head thud back against the fridge.

Peter hums around Hank’s cock and what he can’t reach with his mouth, he works with his hand. Peter gives head like it’s boring and thrilling at the same time, no doubt because of how fast his mind works, how much faster life moves for him. Regardless of what’s going through his head while he does it, Hank can’t deny that Peter is damn good at sucking dick.

Hank’s hips are slowly thrusting when he picks on a sharp, soft gasp. One that doesn’t come from Peter.

Hank opens his eyes slowly. He’s not surprised to see Scott across the kitchen. He’s clutching an empty plate in one hand and a half-full glass of water in the other. His grip on both is so tight, it looks like they might shatter in his hands.

Hank can’t help but grin, and Scott gasps again.

Peter sucks harder and brings one hand up to cup Hank’s balls, rolling them gently, and Hank shudders at the contact. Never once does he tear his gaze away from Scott. Scott’s mouth hangs open, dopey but plush and inviting. The cup and plate quiver in his hands, and Hank nods subtly toward the countertop.

Scott obediently sets both items down and then his hands hang limp at his sides.

Hank bites his own bottom lip. His chest heaves as he gasps for air and pushes his cock deeper into Peter’s waiting throat. Peter groans and there’s a slick sound, impossibly quick, and Hank knows the other man is jerking himself off. Peter squeezes his hand around Hank’s dick tighter for a second, before stroking swiftly, grasp loose and even.

“Fuck,” Hank breathes. His eyes are still trained on Scott, who’s flushed a deeper pink than Hank has ever seen. The outline of his erection is distinct even though the jeans he’s wearing. Hank longs to get his mouth on Scott, on his whole body, take him apart like he so clearly wants.

Scott’s mouth drops open a fraction wide, and his gaze flits to Peter.

_Scott wants to take his place_.

Hank groans again and finally his eyes flutter shut. He thuds his head against the fridge as he starts to come down Peter’s throat. He grips Peter’s hair tight and holds him still, and Peter whines endlessly around him. The slick sound of Peter stroking off speeds up incrementally, until his body tightens, and he chokes himself on Hank’s cock to push himself over the edge.

After the moment relaxes, the kitchen is filled with nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing.

Hank finally looks down to see Peter pulling back. He licks his lips and grins up at Hank, winking. The floor in front of Peter is splattered with come even though his cock is already tucked back into his sweatpants.

In the blink of an eye, Peter has the mess cleaned up, and Hank’s own softening prick tucked away.

“Till next time,” Peter says once he’s standing in front of Hank again. He jerks his head almost imperceptibly toward Scott. “Unless he’s gonna be occupying all your time.”

Hank flushes pink despite himself, and Peter speeds off with a laugh. When the metaphorical dust settles, Scott is gone, and Hank is ready to call his hypothesis good.

 

 

Hank corners him in the hallway for lack of a better idea. Not that Scott seems to mind, but it still feels callous. Hank corners him between a chair and an end table, and Scott’s startled flailing knocks into a lamp. Hank catches it by some miracle before it can clatter and draw attention to them, and when he sets it back down, Scott’s breathing is even more labored.

“I think I know what you want, Scott.”

Scott gulps.

“What you need,” Hank murmurs. He’s not usually seductive like this, not suave. That’s never really been his thing. He’s usually the one being seduced, not the other way around. But Scott is clearly begging for it, desperate for it.

Scott whines softly.

“C’mon.” Hank takes a step back and Scott takes the hint. He guides Hank down the hall a few more feet to his room, and they slip in with nearly silent footfalls. Once inside, Scott stands off to the side and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Where do you want to start?”

Scott opens his mouth, then closes. He frowns.

Hank nods. “Alright.” Even though Scott hasn’t said anything, Hank takes a step forward. “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?” Despite Scott’s nod, Hank’s nerves—suspiciously absent up until now—appear with a vengeance. It’s always a little nerve-wracking to bed someone new, let alone a teammate. A _younger_ teammate. A former lover’s brother, no less.

All the reasons this is a bad idea spring to mind, and Hank ignores each and every one. Instead, he steps up closer and cups Scott’s cheek. He waits a moment, then lowers his lips to Scott’s, finally tasting the plush skin. Scott sighs immediately but doesn’t quite melt the way Hank almost anticipated.

Scott reaches for him, grips the front of Hank’s button-down and yanks him closer. “I won’t break,” Scott breathes between kisses.

Hank growls, delighted and possessive. He doesn’t respond other than to start working on Scott’s clothes. The jeans come first; after Hank unbuttons them, Scott steps out and kicks the denim away. They break the kiss long enough to tear at each other’s shirts. Scott’s polo comes off easily, but the buttons on Hank’s shirt don’t stand a chance against Scott’s eager, fumbling hands. The buttons pop off and scatter across the carpet around their feet.  

With Scott stripped down to his boxers and Hank still in his wrinkled trousers, they stumble over to the bed. Scott goes first and scrambles up to lay against the pillows. Hank climbs into his lap, feeling all his lankiness when faced with Scott’s lithe frame, not that any of it matters. Scott looks up at him, awed, and the intense focus is heady.

Once settled, Hank swoops in and steals another kiss. Scott tilts his head back and opens his mouth to Hank; the kiss deepens, slick and sweet, and Hank can feel Scott’s erection filling out beneath him. Hank pulls back to breathe and reaches out for Scott in the same moment. He cups his cheek again, and they share a grin; then, Hank’s hand trails down Scott’s neck to his shoulder, across his chest.

When Hank’s fingertips skirt Scott’s nipples, he inhales sharply.

“Oh?” Hank asks with a smirk. Scott’s panting around a grin, and Hank gives in to the urge to kiss him again. His mouth follows the same path his hand mapped out: Scott’s cheek, his shoulder, down his chest until Hank’s breath fans over Scott’s pebbled nipples. “Can I?”

“Oh my god, _please_.”

Laughing, Hank presses a gentle kiss to the left nipple before shifting and doing the same to the right. He crosses the distance of Scott’s chest with a smattering of kisses, until Scott is shaking underneath him, tormented by nothing but fleeting kisses.

“Hank, _more_.”

Hank doesn’t reply except to seal his lips around Scott’s nipple, and _bite_. Scott’s gasp is broken and wet, but he arches his back to push his chest against Hank. Hank does it again but harder and it wrings and even more wanton noise; Scott raises a shaking hand and tangles it in Hank’s hair.

Hank torments him a little longer, nibbling until Scott’s chest is abused and red. When Scott’s desperate whimpers reach a pitch that nearly rattles the paintings on the walls, Hank finally pulls back. He doesn’t go far, only leaning back enough to breathe before continuing his way down Scott’s body.

He nuzzles against Scott’s stomach and skirts his teeth over the taut skin. Under his touch, Scott’s stomach clenches in anticipation. Hank continues until he hits the waistband of Scott’s boxers. He pauses then and looks up.

“Okay?”

Scott nods fervently. His hand still in Hank’s hair tightens for a moment before relaxing.

Hank slides his hands up Scott’s thighs, palms brushing over dustings of hair as he goes. He glides until his fingertips can graze the sensitive skin of Scott’s inner thighs. The muscles clench again and Scott’s legs twitch as if wanting to come together. Hank pauses and flicks his gaze up, but Scott nods again.

Hank draws his hands out slowly and finally rests on Scott’s waistband. He raises the elastic carefully, mindful of the tent thickening underneath the cotton, and draws the fabric down carefully. Scott lifts his hips to help and shudders once he’s finally exposed. Hank pulls the boxers down Scott’s legs before tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder.

Hank takes a moment to look, and Scott squirms under his gaze. Across his chest is a light sheen of sweat, the light reflecting off moving with his frantic inhales.

“You don’t always take this long.”

Scott’s words snap Hank from his thoughts. He raises an eyebrow, and Scott shrugs in response.

“You don’t,” Scott insists.

“Which you only know because you’ve been spying on me.” Hank crawls his way back up Scott’s body. He lets the fabric of his trousers brush against Scott’s bare skin. “You could’ve just asked.”

Scott’s body, already pink with lust, darkens and his lips twist into a crooked grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Hank rolls his eyes. He lays his body against Scott and swallows his shaky exhale with a kiss. Scott responds eagerly; his hand in Hank’s hair had slipped away once his boxers were taken off, but now it returns and holds tighter than before. His other hand, previously knotting in the sheets, reaches for Hank and curls around the back of his neck.

Hank kisses Scott hot and lewd and lets his hands trail over his exposed body until Scott is back to a shaking, writhing mess. Hank presses one palm to Scott’s chest in just the right position for his thumb to torment a still sensitive nipple. His other hand dances around the base of Scott’s cock, now fully erect and leaking at the tip.

Hank runs his fingers through wiry hair before drawing his fingertips back to the base and keeps his touch feather light. Scott’s hips jump to get closer, and Hank lets out an involuntary growl.

Scott stills underneath him, but when Hank looks up, a little sheepish of his animalistic noise, he finds Scott staring at him with his mouth agape.

Hank smirks, mostly to himself, and finally gives in and wraps his hand around Scott’s prick. He strokes slowly and carefully, mindful of the dry glide. Scott shivers all the same; he tilts his head back onto the pillow and pants toward the ceiling. The arch exposes his neck, and Hank leans down to bite his adams apple, nip at the delicate skin over his pulse point.

“Hank, _please_ ,” Scott whimpers again.

Hank pulls back and brings his hand to his mouth before pausing. He digs his knees into the bed and brings his hand to Scott’s face, instead. He touches Scott’s cheek gently at first before thumbing at Scott’s lower lip.

He’s a quick study, and Scott’s already open mouth lets out a shaky whine. He tilts his head and licks at Hank’s hand to get him slick. He keeps going long after needed and Hank shudders when Scott wraps his lips around his pointer finger and _sucks_. Hank knows Scott is staring, probably impossibly smug, but it’s not even annoying. Hank lets him suck, lets him moan around the digit, surprises him by pushing deeper for a moment before withdrawing entirely.

Scott’s lips are wet and Hank can’t help but kiss him. In the same moment he reaches down and grips Scott’s cock tighter than before, strokes faster and easier with the spit slicking the way. Scott keens into the kiss and his hips buck eagerly.

Hank keeps the kiss light and gentle, simply enjoying the feel of Scott’s plush lips against his own. Almost unbidden, without thought, Hank murmurs, “your lips.”

Scott hums in agreement. “You and Peter, the other day…”

Hank nods. “I could tell. You wanted to be him.” He drifts delicate kisses across Scott’s cheek until he reaches his ear. He nibbles and tugs at the lobe and relishes Scott’s answering full body shiver.

“I want to, now.” Scott turns his head and brushes his nose against Hank’s.

Hank doesn’t question it. He lets his hand slip away from Scott’s straining cock, sits back on his haunches, and finally works on his trousers. He makes quick work of the zipper and button and drags his pants and underwear down far enough to expose his dick.

It takes some awkward shuffling across the bed, the motion dragging his trousers down further, but eventually Hank is able to swing one leg over Scott’s chest, angling his cock at Scott’s open and waiting mouth.

“Ready?”

Scott doesn’t reply. He leans forward and curls his lips over his teeth, then takes the head of Hank’s prick into his mouth.

Hank growls again as wet heat envelopes just the tip. Immediately his hips buck and Scott takes it gamely. He swallows around Hank’s girth and takes him deeper with ease. He goes until his lips hit Hank’s hand, still curled around the base, and moans. Scott bobs his head and never quite pulls off entirely; Hank watches as his cock starts to glisten from Scott’s drooling, the sight obscene and addictive.

Slowly, he drops his hand his cock and pushes his hips forward again. Scott keens, sending vibrations along Hank’s dick, and starts to move faster. He bobs quicker and takes Hank in deeper, until he surpasses where Hank’s hand used to be, until the spongy tip is at the back of Scott’s throat.

“Jesus…” Hank says shakily.

Scott’s head tilts slightly as he looks up. Achingly slow he pulls off, and Hank can’t stop staring at his already plush lips red and abused from kissing and cocksucking. “I won’t break,” he says again before deepthroating Hank again.

Hank’s hips jump at the abrupt change—from wet and a little chilled to wet and devastatingly hot. Scott looks up at him once more, and Hank nods back. He tangles one hand in Scott’s hair and braces the other on the headboard. Then, he starts to thrust. He draws back until only the very tip is between Scott’s lips, leaking precome onto his tongue.

He holds Scott’s head still by his hair and fucks into his mouth slowly at first. He wants to savor the feeling of his cock gliding between Scott’s obscene lips, he wants to relish the moment his cockhead hits the back of Scott’s throat.

Scott doesn’t gag when it happens, but he does swallow reflexively. Shaking hands come up and first take Hank by the hips, then slide around to his ass. He squeezes and pushes, urging Hank on.

Hank takes the hint.

He still pulls out slowly, but he thrusts in hard and fast. The motion rocks Scott back and his head bumps against the headboard. He moans—and although Hank isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of the thrust, or the pain, or _both_ , he does it again all the same. He moves faster and pulls out quicker before shoving back in.

The bed rocks with the motions and every other especially rough thrust, the back of Scott’s head collides with the headboard. Scott moans each time, and as his face burns red and his mouth gets slick, Hank wishes he could see his eyes. The visor is still firmly place, and the stark red of ruby-quartz is hardly off-putting. But—

“You’re so pretty,” Hank moans unintentionally. Scott laughs faintly around him but neither of them stop. It’s true, Hank thinks, and he wishes he could see Scott’s eyes flutter, see the way they water when he starts to lose his breath around Hank’s cock. Hank wants to see it all, and the desire burns through him like a forest fire.

“Scott,” Hank starts again, “I’m going to come.” He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight even though he knows he’d last longer if he didn’t watch—maybe long enough to fuck Scott, to stretch him open with his fingers and tongue before finally getting inside him—but he just can’t help himself. Besides, he assures himself, this is hardly the last time they’ll do this.

Scott whines around him and the blankets shift as he starts to squirm. He finally takes one hand off Hank’s ass and starts to stroke himself off. Quick, wet noises join Hank’s low growls and Scott’s own muffles whines. Scott is still slick from spit earlier and his hand moves rapidly over his cock.

Fueled by Scott’s frantic desire, Hank’s hips piston quicker almost involuntarily. Scott takes it all, though, easily and eagerly. Spit is dripping down his chin and his cheeks are faintly damp from stray tears when it’s been too much. Hank lets his touch drift from Scott’s hair to his cheek and wipe at the tear tracks.

“You close?” Hank murmurs.

Scott makes an aborted nod and keens again. His hand speeds up behind Hank, and his breathing gets heavier.

“I want you to come, Scott,” Hank says softly. “I want you to come with my cock in your mouth.”

Scott’s next moan is so loud, not even the girth of Hank’s prick can muffle it. His body starts to tense and shake as he gets closer and his mouth goes slack.

Hank slows his pace fractionally but keeps thrusting. Scott’s whines come every other second, each time Hank hits the back of his throat, increasing in frequency and pitch.

“Come on, Scott. Come for me,” Hank says, tone gentle and soothing.

Scott lets out a last whine as his hips buck into his fist. His whimpering noises trail off into soundless gasps and the bed squeaks with the force of his thrusts.

It only lasts a moment, but for Hank it feels like it lasts a lifetime. He watches all the while, hardly moving to have a better look. HIs cock rests just inside Scott’s mouth and the moans and heaving gasps send shivers down his spine.

Hank is so entranced he nearly misses it when Scott slowly starts to pull off his cock; he replaces his mouth with his come-slick hand and starts to stroke.

Hank gives a choked noise. “Oh, fuck, Scott.”

Scott smirks up at him and wraps his abused lips around Hank one last time. He suckles and never breaks pace with his hand stroking Hank off.

It’s over far quicker than Hank would like, but he’s powerless to resist. He hurries his hand back into Scott’s hair and holds his head still once more as he starts to come. He tries to get out a warning but all he manages is a mangled groan.

Scott doesn’t seem to mind, though. He startles briefly as the come fills his mouth but doesn’t pull away immediately. He continues to stroke, and Hank watches him swallow before finally pulling back. The last few stripes of come land across his lips and chin, and he simply stares up at Hank, still stroking, until Hank bats his hand away.

“Good lord,” Hank says as he uncurls his hand from the headboard to take Scott by the chin. It’s quite a sight: his face is pink from hairline to neck, and the leftover tear tracks have dried on his cheeks. His lips are redder and fuller than Hank has ever seen, and the milky streaks of come stand out on his face.

Scott grins a little sheepishly, then gestures to his face. “I should wash up.”

Hank starts to climb off him but hesitates. “One second.” He crawls back and off the bed and stops Scott from standing with a palm against his sternum. Hank leans down and kisses him softly, uncaring of the come between them, growling again when Scott’s mouth opens for him just as eagerly as before.

Scott pulls back with a gasp and lets out a laugh. “I really need to clean up.” He looks Hank up and down as he speaks, and his gaze zeroes in on Hank’s softening cock, still exposed. “You too.”

Hank holds out a hand. “C’mon then.”

Scott’s grin, still smeared with come, turns surprisingly bashful. All the same, he takes Hank’s proffered hand and lets Hank pull him up off the bed. Scott leads the way to the attached bathroom and they slip into the shower together. There’s a moment of arguing over temperature before Scott concedes and lets Hank keep it just this side of boiling.

Steam builds up quickly and despite his complaints, Scott melts under the spray. Hank steps up close and gathers Scott into his arms before pulling him in for a kiss. It’s still bitter and salty with come, but as that taste fades all that remains is simply _Scott_.

As they kiss, Hank’s thoughts start to drift. He pulls back and opens his mouth to speak, but he waits too long, and Scott turns away. He starts to lather up his hair with shampoo. Hank stares at the strong, lean lines of his back and how they shift as he moves. He studies Scott’s shoulders and unabashedly stares at his shapely ass.

“Do you want this to be an exclusive thing?” Hank finally asks as Scott ducks his head under the spray.

Scott’s answering hum is distorted by the pounding of the shower spray. He takes his time to rinse all the shampoo from his hair, then lathers up with conditioner. Once he’s satisfied and the conditioner is settling, he faces Hank again.

“No,” Scott replies. He takes a moment and seems to be considering his words. “No,” he says again, “I don’t want that. I like this.” He gestures between them. “And I like what you have with the rest of the team. And then there’s Jean…”

Hank grins. “She doesn’t mind?”

Scott shakes his head. “She was trying to get me to approach you sooner.”

Hank laughs. “If it makes you feel better, _everyone_ has been trying to get this to happen sooner.” He leans in and steals another kiss. Scott responds eagerly for a second before pressing against Hank’s chest.

In his hand is the bottle of shampoo. Hank laughs again and shakes his head, but obediently starts to wash. Silence settles easily over them, comfortable like a familiar blanket. They lather, rinse, and repeat until they’re satisfied. They get out of the shower together and step apart long enough to towel off before wandering back into the bedroom. Their clothes are strewn about and there’s a distinct scent of sex permeating the room.

“Do any of the others mind… being watched?” Scott asks as he makes his way to his dresser for fresh clothes.

Hank swallows his gasp. “I’ll have to ask.” Scott shoots him a coy smirk over his shoulder, and Hank wraps his towel around his waist before bracketing Scott against the dresser. “What about you?” He asks; he doesn’t know where the others stand, but he has a distinct feeling Raven would love to help take Scott apart; Peter too.

Scott’s skin lights up in a renewed blush. “That’d be fine.”

Hank presses his grin against the back of Scott’s neck. “Good.”


End file.
